


Forever Your Hanging Man

by WitchyTwitchy



Category: Little Nightmares (Video Game)
Genre: Communication Through Television, F/M, Possessive Behavior, Six is The Lady in this, Suicidal Thoughts, The Thin Man is still grieving, Unstable Romantic Relationship, spoilers ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:08:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29527581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchyTwitchy/pseuds/WitchyTwitchy
Summary: Even after all these years, after what she did ; there's the lingering touch of her hand in his. Refusing to let him go.
Relationships: Mono/Six (Little Nightmares), The Thin Man/The Lady (Little Nightmares)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 433





	Forever Your Hanging Man

It was his hand she held, right before she let his fingers slip through hers. The last thing she ever touched of his, as he's aware. 

The Thin Man remembers it, how her touch was overtly warm in his cold hand. A feeling that never fades, even as he wastes away on his chair in the personal hell she left him in. Both of his hands remain on his lap, all feeling lost in them besides ice cold and a memory. 

Everything's fuzzy, like the static ringing in his deaf ears and the view around him. Time has done him _**(** who was he now? **)**_ no blessings. Growing thinner and taller, his bitterness stitched deep within his soulless heart. But patience is a virtue he always had— mastered to the point of perfection. Leaving the man to wait on his throne in a room that slowly turns from blue to pink, signaling that his end approaches faster and faster. 

_The waiting would've been easier_ , he thinks as he clenches his hand _**(** the one she always held, her favorite one **)**_ into a fist on his lap. His bones creak with the action, unknown to use. _If it weren't for this._

As if on cue, a screen in the corner of his dusty eye flips on. Beckoning him to answer the call, like a moth to a flame. For a long moment, he remains in the same position he's always in. Face forward with his head bowed at an angle, his bowler hat obscuring his eyes from the sight of the fleshy onlookers he knows resides behind these walls. He waits, as if trying to out wait God themself, even if he knows he never can. 

After eternity, the screen flickers off for a moment. His shoulders relax for mere seconds, fooled by the trick he should know like the back of his hand. But the moment it turns back on, The Thin Man can't say he saw it coming. A sharp whistle leaves his cracking lips as he sighs, another sound he can barely hear. She's doing it again— no matter how much he silently begs her to stop. Withering away, rotting like a dead man ; if maggots could crawl out of the aging spots on his face, he's sure they would. 

He's stalling, he knows he is. Trying to keep busy in his mind so he never has to answer. She has no right. Yet the question tugs at his neck, makes a nest in his skull, wondering why she ever let him go if she seeks him out like this. 

Eventually, The Thin Man realizes he's simply that— a man, a young boy trapped in an aging body ; a boy so fond of a little girl who let him go... and he rises from his chair. Standing on his legs always felt off, he's so tall off the ground and he's never used to walking on such long limbs. It's as if he's a newborn baby doe, lost without a mother and a home, stumbling his way through his territory that never really was his. The similarity comforts him, it feels so childish. He likes that. Childish. _Children_. With their braving souls, their wild nature. Though he never did like the games that came with childhood. 

Even if he plays them now with her. Standing in front of the static screen in his misery that radiates his false glory. All he sees is the screen, fingers twitching at his sides as he looks into it. A boat fills his mind, turning his brain into sea waves and his ears listen in on the sounds of screaming children. He remembers school, how vile the sight of it all made him, though he doubts she ever thinks of that as she looks upon her victims. 

Forever he stands there, waiting for something as if he's tied to her leash. Staring aimlessly at what is before him. Some part of him that's more Mono than The Thin Man aches to see her, the other part _**(** fully Thin Man **)**_ is glad he never has to. Not until she's in her little raincoat, and he has to take her away. 

On cue, a voice wavers into his small room, something he can only hear due to the vibrating in the walls. She's talking to him. The man places his slender fingers onto the screen, the voice finally tuning into something he can understand. English was lost on him years ago, as was voices in general. All he can hear is noises and static, along with whatever voice would mumble to him through his tvs. 

"You're here." The voice whispers to him, sending chills up his spine. 

_Yes._ He thinks, _I am here._ He doesn't know what else she wants to hear from him, so his mind goes quiet. 

She isn't satisfied, making a noise that resembles a growl. The Thin Man isn't bothered by the noise, refusing to move or startle at it. He's long given up the urge within him to please her, to make her comfortable and safe. But it seems she doesn't feel the same way. It's hard to believe they were ever on the same page back then, perhaps they never were. 

There's another pressure on the screen now, right where his palm lays. Her own hand presses into the screen, into his own. The touch feels like a ghost, something fleeting but ever present. He feels haunted by her, never shaking off her presence despite being cities and oceans away. And here she was, mimicking the act of holding his hand like years ago. Let go, he wishes, let go, _let go._

A purr rumbles the screen, such a pleased noise that makes his hand shake. Following short after is another gurgle of words, "Come through." 

He shakes his head out of instinct, before realizing she can't see it. Instead of thinking, he remains silent because he was taught silence speaks volumes. The answer is clear in the stretching quiet that he won't do as she says, even if he has the power to. Traveling through tvs is second nature to him, though his limbs are long and he has to bend down to crawl through— it's still easy. Nonetheless, he refuses to do it for her. 

Anger ripples into the room, seething out of the person on the other side of the screen. The intensity of it makes his room turn bright red, reminding him of blood dripping down the walls from a shack in the woods. She's upset, livid even, that he refuses her still. Such an emotion pulls at his form, as if trying to forcibly suck him in through the screen. All he does in response is keep his feet flat on the ground, barley digging his heels in. 

Another noise, "Come." As simple in her wants as she was when he knew her then. Though said familiarity isn't of any comfort to him now. 

More silence from his end. 

This is the final straw for this conversation, he notices this as the lights in his room dim back to the original bluish-pink tint _**(** cotton candy, he remembers fondly, though he doesn't recall the taste on his tongue **)**_. He's won this time, he's won all the times she's asked him before to step into her domain. Never does he feel the victory that he should however ; instead all he feels is a burden on his shoulders and a weight in his heart. 

The topic switches abruptly, turning the tide of conversation at her command. 

"I saw a hanging man on The Maw yesterday." She whispers, or at least he likes to think so. "It reminded me of you."

Long limbed. Suit. Full of their own misery. The Thin Man can admit it sounds like him, the picture in his mind that summons up from her words. 

"Do you think of it? Dream of it? Do you dream? I do." 

Slowly, he cracks his neck ; mind filled with nooses and suits left behind by dead men he consumes. 

_I do._ If there was a way to end his pain as simple as snapping his neck, he would've done it long ago. After he hurt her _**(** because he had to have hurt her, right? **)**_ he had lost that drive to live. Everything he gave to life, to fighting to survive, had been for her. Never for him. Loneliness turned him into the monster he was now, a shell made hollow by the lack of warmth and comfort that company would bring. 

_**(** Why did The Thin Man consume people through the screens? He wanted them, he wanted them to be with him, it was as simple as that **)** _

Boldly, the woman says, "I wouldn't let you do it, you know? If you were here with me." She pauses, then murmurs, "You should come here."

He knows she wouldn't, he's sure she would trap him in a cage if she could. This makes him swallow hard, nervous, because some part of him wants to let her. Until he remembers a fall, her hand letting him go despite giving her his all, and he makes up his mind again. No right! She has no right! He knows this, yet The Thin Man almost trembles. Shoulders shaking as he bends, spine aching with the posture. 

Remembering the fall is so much harder when her hand is pressed against his once more ; for a moment, he almost sees pass the screen because of how real her touch feels then. Palm pressed to palm. Pathetically, he curls his fingers on the screen, as if trying to clasp hers in his. 

_You left me._ Another tremble, bending down lower. Forehead now resting against the screen. _I needed you._

"You need me." She 'corrects', but her lips remain sealed about the betrayal she committed. 

Lights flicker around him, the walls blending back into the fleshy exterior while his lips keep pulling back into an agonizing frown. _You left me because you could._ He decides, he judges. Trying to tempt her into correcting him again. 

No response. His hurt only grows like a disease spreading through him. He hates this so much, these games. A feral sort of hatred and anger that consumes his frail body as he's toyed with time and time again. 

If only he could bring himself to hate _her_ just as much. What a weak old man he was. How feeble. 

She's in control, something she gently reminds him of as she changes the frequency— the topic. "My dreams are of children, and children, and you." A tender noise sparks his fingers. 

Cautiously, his fingers unfold again and he asks _which me?_ Because it's not as simple anymore. 

"Just you. The child hero with a bag on his head, a looming man with his hat… There isn't a difference to me." 

Hearing such fondness in her tone is almost enough to make him uncomfortable. He hasn't been regarded in such a way in a long time, maybe even never ; at least not verbally. At a loss of what to say, the man remains quiet. His heart beats to the point of pain, as if it hasn't been working all this time. While he may want to say he dreams of her, that would be a lie. The Thin Man cannot dream, only think, and she haunts him, brings him nightmares, rather than dreams. 

Her hand presses against the screen harder, and her other hand joins her. "I consume you, that's how it always ends. I eat you up." She lets her whole weight fall into the tv, "It stops the hunger and… I feel full, for the first time in a long while."

_Wishful thinking._

"I know, I know."

_Six._ He thinks, letting himself slip up and put the name to the voice. Though he always knew it was her. _The Lady._ The man tries to correct. 

Amused, the woman mocks him, "Mono." The very woman who rules The Maw breathes out his name like a blessing, "The Thin Man himself."

Growing tired of the games, he knocks on the screen to let her know the time between them is running short. Her agony floods in his room because of this fact, making the blue overpower the pink in his makeshift home. No sympathy comes from him at her pain, content with it instead. Always, it was the little things that brought him comfort the most. Dramatics had never been Mono's forte. 

"We've come far, haven't we?" 

"Not me," his voice croaks out, _not me._

Surprise turns to complete fondness from the other side, vibrating his core from how strong Six's adoration is at hearing his voice. Though he can't phantom why, it's nothing short of gruff, uneven roughness that cracks with the strain of every word. Yet she loves it. _~~Loves~~_

Pulling himself away from the screen, all that remains is his one palm compared to her two. Feeling his presence leaving, Six, The Lady, tries to get in the last word. Typical behavior from the girl who left him rotting. 

"Mine." Her words are short but clear, "Back then and even now." Stated as a fact, not a question. 

Did The Lady act like this to her guests? Or was it reserved for only him?

After considering it, Mono admits the truth _**(** because The Thin Man didn't belong to anyone, but the boy within sure did **)**_. 

_Forever yours_ , he tells her right before taking his hand away from the screen. Ending the connection between them once more. Around him everything turns back into static nothing, the walls forming around him again as his senses go back to normal. He becomes deaf again, mute, practically blind while he stands in the room of nothingness. Any life in him dulls once more, the air becoming suffocating again. 

The Thin Man, trapped in his throne room, his cell. Bound to his chair and powerless despite his status. Being stuck here is better than being with her, he reasons, though his heart feels otherwise. 

Finally, he sits back down. Hands in his lap _**(** though the one she touched burns **)**_ with his head bowed. Waiting, after all this time, he still waits for the cycle to come again. Or for her to try the sole tv in The Maw once more. No matter how much he physically changes, he will always depend on others ; his child self, a girl in a coat, the ruler of a boat far from him. Control was never in his tired hands, though he ruled over all of Pale City. 

A cruel cycle. 

Neverending torment. 

There's the sound of another screen turning on, and then more after that. The viewers get sucked in a bit more each time. He doesn't even lift a finger. 

_Long legs dangle from where a man hangs above, completely lifeless. The Thin Man commands people to jump off roofs to see how it feels_. 

Hanging men, he realizes, are perhaps the luckiest men of all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I was personally attacked by the grief that LN2 gave me so I took it out on my fave character! I really love the dynamic that Mono and Six could have, and had lots of thoughts on it— which spilled into this work. 
> 
> First work in the Little Nightmares fandom so !! Hello! Hope you enjoyed <3


End file.
